


it's hard to stay cool (when you smile at me)

by thesaddestboner



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:30:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6753856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Kris has been thinking about this for a long time.  A really long time.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's hard to stay cool (when you smile at me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGirlInThePinkScarf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlInThePinkScarf/gifts).



> [**TheGirlInThePinkScarf**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlInThePinkScarf/profile) prompted me with: **First kiss if you're trying to write Bryzzo yet.**
> 
> Originally posted on tumblr.
> 
> Title from "Can You Tell," by Ra Ra Riot.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

Kris has been thinking about this for a long time.  A really long time.  Longer than he’d care to admit, really.  

It wasn’t supposed to become a Thing.  It’s not like he’s never had a crush on a teammate before, anyway.  When you spend as much time as you do around your team, they happen.  Kris has—almost—always been good at just pushing away the nagging thoughts or urges to focus on what needs to get done.  What he needs to do to improve his game.  To elevate himself.   

Baseball.  Baseball’s always been his refuge.  For some guys, it’s religion, going to church, praying.  For other guys, it’s going out to bars after games, picking up girls, FaceTiming their kids, or hanging out with friends.  For Kris, it’s always been baseball.

Is Bryce’s undershirt really clinging to his shoulders and showing off the cut of his muscles?  Go take indoor batting practice for an extra half hour.

Is Zack’s ass looking mighty fine in his sliders? Beg Bryan to shag grounders with you until you’re so tired you might collapse in the dirt, sweat pouring down the sides of your face, down the back of your neck, soaking into the collar of your undershirt.

Do Rizz’s hugs last a little longer than they ought to?  Does Rizz wrap you up in his arms and lift you a few inches off the ground when he hugs you, like you’re his most favorite person in the world?  Does he use his whole body, wrap you up and make it seem like you’re never going to get away?

Kris just does what he always does.  He takes extra cuts during batting practice, no gloves.  He perfects his swing until his entire body aches.  He feels the wood under his palms, solid and unwavering.  Something he can anchor himself to.  

There’s a crowd forming behind the batting cages.  There always is when Kris takes his swings.  Somebody makes a joke about Moises Alou pissing on his hands, and suggests Kris try it out.  Hell, it’s probably Rizz.  Kris knows for a fact he’s tried that out himself.

Kris can still feel the ghost of Rizz’s hug—big, crushing bear-hug that nearly squeezed the life out of him when he got to the park that morning—around his ribs, so he just swings even more viciously until the warm feeling finally fades away.  

When he’s finally done, he looks down at his hands and realizes his palm is bleeding.  He wipes the blood off on his sweatshirt, gets his hand taped up, and he’s good to go.

***

It’s the sixth inning of a boring, uncomplicated game.  Jake’s Jake, so there are zeroes across the board, and J-Hey cranked out a two-run homer in the first.  There’s been nothing really worth writing home around since.  It’s the kind of game Kris likes.  He can turn his brain off, just set his body on autopilot and cruise.

Kris is standing in the dugout with his back to the field, tearing through a tub of Double-Bubble, when someone steps up behind him and throws their entire weight into a hug.

It’s Rizz, of course.  There’s no one else on the team that would get into Kris’s personal space like Rizz does, without reservation.

Kris stiffens, up to his elbows in wax paper-covered gumballs. “Rizz, what—”

“How’s my favorite person?” Rizz reaches around Kris to shove a hand into the bucket.  He comes out with a handful of gum.

Kris picks out a few pieces for himself and carefully extracts himself from Rizz’s full-bodied hug, sliding away so that they won’t be nose to nose when he turns around.  Because that wouldn’t be awkward and uncomfortable at all.  

“What’s up?” Kris carefully unwraps his piece of gum and tucks it into his mouth.  

“Why’s something gotta be ‘up’?  A guy can’t say ‘hi’ to his favorite person?” Rizz grins and chews noisily.  “Come back to my room later?  We can order room service.  I’ll even let you have everything in my mini-bar.”

Everything in Kris goes still and cold.  He should probably say something, crack a joke, play it cool.  Llke, ‘ha ha sounds like a date.  Bro.’  But when Kris opens his mouth to do just that—pretend everything’s fine, everything’s normal, everything’s perfect, like he hasn’t actually been thinking about going back with Rizz to his room for, like, the last month and a half—nothing happens. 

Kris closes his mouth.  Swallows his half-chewed wad of gum. 

Once he’s finished choking and coughing up a lung, he wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“Uh, sure. Okay,” he mumbles, because it’s not really fair to Rizz to blow him off.  He doesn’t know the shit running circles in Kris’s head like a chicken with its head cut off.

“You okay?” Rizz asks him, letting a hand land heavily on Kris’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Kris says, sliding out from under Rizz’s palm. “It’s a… It’s a date.  Bro.  I guess.”

Rizz doesn’t seem to notice anything’s out of the ordinary.  He just claps Kris on his shoulder, grabs his glove, and hops out of the dugout. 

Kris follows, head down.

Baseball. 

Kris pulls in a breath, holds onto it.  Lets it go.

Baseball.

Nothing else matters except baseball.

Perfect.

***

Rizz’s hotel room is a lot like Kris's—panoramic view of the Allegheny and the twinkling lights of the city just beyond—only it’s a little more disheveled.  There are clothes all over one of the beds, and Rizz has an acoustic guitar propped up against the end of the unoccupied bed.

Kris wanders over to the guitar while Rizz heads over to the mini-bar and starts rooting around for something to drink.  He picks up the guitar and sits down on the end of the bed, laying it across his lap.

“So, what’s up with you?  For real?” Rizz calls out over his shoulder.

Kris plucks at the strings.  The guitar’s in need of a tuning.  He didn’t even know Rizz liked to play.  

“Uh, nothing’s up with me?  I’m fine,” Kris says, picking out a country tune with clumsy fingers.  

Rizz straightens up and closes the mini-bar with a bump of his hip, his arms loaded with tiny, airline-sized bottles of booze.  Kris frowns and turns his attention back to the guitar.  He starts playing a different tune.

When Rizz tries to push off a couple bottles at Kris, he waves him off.  “I’m good, dude. Really.”

Rizz just shrugs and twists open one of the bottles.  He tips his head back and gulps down the contents of the bottle, and Kris tries very hard not to notice the bobbing of his Adam’s apple or the line of his throat.  When he’s done, Rizz lowers the bottle and makes a show of smacking his lips and wiping his face off on his sleeve.

Rizz grins at Kris.  “More for me, then.”  

Instead of just knocking the pile of suit coats and trousers off the other bed, Rizz drops down next to Kris and sprawls out on his back, letting the little bottles roll out of his arms. Kris looks down at him and snorts softly, shaking his head.

“You’re a loser.  I can’t believe I’m friends with you.” Kris drags his fingers over the guitar strings and presses until it feels like they’ll cut into his fingertips.  The torn blister on his palm still stings.

“No accounting for taste,” Rizz says glibly, rolling on the mattress until Kris feels his elbow digging into his hip.

“Come on.  Quit it.”  Kris reaches down to push him away.

Rizz catches Kris’s hand and holds it against his chest.  “I’m wounded.  Honestly.”

Kris tugs his hand away and rubs it on his thigh.  “I think you’ll live.”  He can still feel Rizz’s fingers locked around his wrist.

Rizz looks up at him, still grinning, though it’s less smug now.  Less smug, more genuine.  More  _Anthony_  and less  _Rizz_.  Kris sighs deeply and worries his fingers along the seams on the comforter bunching up under his hand. 

“Hey.  Be real with me.  You okay?” Rizz’s—Rizzo, Anthony—his voice is soft, gentle.  His eyes are searching.  Worried.

Something twists in Kris’s chest like a key in a lock.  

“Don’t hate me.” 

Kris isn’t that impulsive.  He’s always made the good decision.  The right decision.  The logical, well thought out, reasoned decision.  The decision that would benefit his career and get him to where he wants to go—first the Majors, then the All-Star Game, then the postseason and beyond—as fast as possible.  

Sometimes it doesn’t always work out.  Sometimes you can make the right decision—the smart choice—and it’ll just blow up in your face anyway.  Sometimes you can play your ass off in Spring Training and still get sent to Iowa to start the year as part of a numbers game.  

There are so many ways this could go wrong.  There are so many ways this could fuck up everything Kris has built for himself so far.  There are so many ways this could ruin the perfect life Kris has envisioned for his future.

Kris leans down, tips Anthony’s chin up—Rizz lets him, Kris thinks, foggily—and slots their mouths together.  

He half expects Rizzo to jerk away and slug him in the face, even though he  _knows_ him.  Knows that even if Anthony doesn’t want this, doesn’t want Kris, isn’t into guys or whatever, that he isn’t going to lash out.  He’ll try to laugh it off, and he’ll try to get Kris to laugh too, and they’ll agree to forget it.  They’ll agree to pretend it never happened or something.  Kris trusts Rizz to know that no matter what happens, Rizz isn’t going to use this as a weapon against him.

Then Kris registers that Rizz isn’t pulling away.  He isn’t cocking his fists.  He’s sliding a hand around the back of Kris’s neck, holding him still.  He’s licking into Kris’s mouth, biting gently at his bottom lip, and Kris didn’t expect any of this.

He must go still or something, because Rizz breaks the kiss and pulls back a little bit.

“This’s what you were freaking out about?”

Kris squares his shoulders.  “Hey.  I wasn’t freaking—”

“Kris.  You were freaking out.  You’ve been practically vibrating out of your skin for, like, the last month.”  Anthony’s grinning at him.

Rizz.  Rizzo.  Anthony.  Kris breathes out slowly.  “I guess I was just… You make it so hard though—shut up.  Don’t you fucking ruin this with a ‘that’s what she said’ joke,” Kris says, giving Rizzo a gentle shove in the chest.  Anthony grabs hold of his hands again, and Kris laughs anyway.

“You like me.” Anthony is back to looking smug.  He rubs his thumb against the soft underside of Kris’s wrist.

“You’re kind of hard to shake off.  Believe me, I tried,” Kris says.

“Good.  You’re not getting rid of me.”  Anthony leans in, lifting his eyebrows in question. “That kiss kinda left a little to be desired.  How about we get some practice in?”

Practice.  Perfection.  That’s something Kris is good at.  He curls a hand in the collar of Anthony’s shirt and hauls him in the rest of the way.

The second kiss goes much better than the first.

And the third kiss goes even better than the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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